


Bow Ties & Black Eyes

by exposeyou



Series: I Used To Know You When [2]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: I Used To Know You When, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-16
Updated: 2010-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exposeyou/pseuds/exposeyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flatmates Era - Ewan is off to the Trainspotting premiere, and Jude takes it badly when he feels that their friendship is threatened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bow Ties & Black Eyes

Ewan looks amazing in black-tie, Jude thinks. It’s hard not to stare as he fusses in the hall mirror, straightening his lapels, fiddling with his cufflinks, but after a while it stops being fascinating and veers into annoying. “For fuck’s sake Ewan, you’ve retied that thing ten bloody times. Let me do it.” He strides over and sorts out the tie, and his hands are on Ewan’s chest, and he’s looking into those eyes, and yes it’s a cliché but the world _does_ stop, dammit, and he says “I’m so fucking proud of you”. _I love you_. And Ewan pulls him into a hug and kisses him on the cheek, breathes “thanks mate” into his ear, then he’s out the door to the waiting car.

He’s tired, irritated with the girlfriend and irritated with himself for feeling that way, so he’s less than pleased when he comes home to Iggy fucking Pop blaring out of the living room speakers, even though its only midnight and Ewan should still be at the after-party, or whatever. So he strides towards his open bedroom to tell him to have some tiny shred of respect for the neighbours, and he sees them.  Ewan pumping away, obscenely, at the body underneath him, and a shock of blonde hair against the dark sheets.

 _Fuck_.

 Jonny. Of course it’s Jonny. Legs in the air and panting like a bitch in heat.

 Jude is physically, viscerally jealous.

He goes to bed and lies there fuming, listening to them. Someone stumbles across the room to shut off the music, and he resents the silence even more. In his mind, Jonny becomes a monster, a Judas, a usurper who is asleep in his rightful place. Never mind that a few days ago he thought he was a decent bloke, or that Jonny doesn’t have a clue how he feels about Ewan.

Jude spends as long as he possibly can in the bathroom the next morning, hoping he’ll have fucked off home. Of course, he hasn’t. He’s sat in the kitchen eating a bowl of cheerios, wearing Ewan’s pale green shirt unbuttoned, as if it were a trophy. Jude knows its Ewan’s because his sister bought in exactly the right colour to bring out his eyes. It’s so much _Ewan’s_ that to see it on someone else looks wrong. Then it occurs to Jude that they must be Ewan’s jeans too, as Jonny would have been wearing a suit last night.

Somehow he takes all of this in whilst managing to avoid looking directly at him. He’s quietly certain that he’ll see a smug, shit-eating grin on his face if he does. On the other hand, it is somewhat impractical to ignore someone who is in the same room as you, particularly when they’re balanced on a barstool near the fridge, blocking your access to the kettle and much-needed coffee. “Where’s Ewan?”, Jude asks, managing to make two words sound confrontational.

Jonny, oblivious to his foul mood, answers around a mouthful of cereal “’Went out to buy painkillers and more milk. We had a bit too much Champagne last night”. So he’s fucked his best mate and used the last of the milk. Great. Jude can’t even have a decent cup of coffee, and the wanker is still in the flat. He can feel himself bristling with irritation and jealousy. He feels transformed by this anger – ugly and contorted and grim, like some sort of gargoyle. He wonders if he might look different to Jonny. He wonders if he might _move out of the fucking way_ so that he can get to the kettle.

 Jude, by this point, sleep-deprived and feeling strangely vulnerable without a shirt ( _I’d’ve put one if I’d known_ he _was still here_ ) is far too stubborn to say “excuse me” or “do you mind” like a civilised person, and just barges past. Jonny, not expecting to be shoved by a tense and vengeful insomniac, overbalances and has to grab the cheap Formica counter. “What the f- did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” Oh yes, good old Jonny, acting clueless, looking like a kicked puppy. Jude watches as he paints a concerned look on his face, wearing it like foundation. “Jude, are you okay?” Still half on the stool, half off, he puts out a hand to touch his bare shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.”

It comes out as a snarl, and even Jude is surprised at how fierce he sounds. Jonny doesn’t flinch away, though, even as Jude is balling his fists, jutting his chin out, clearly wanting to hurt him. He just leans there, hand still suspended in the air, keeping his ground just long enough to show he isn’t scared, to study Jude’s face and work out what the hell is going on.

And then, as Jude’s ire cools, to be replaced by the cold, sickening realisation that, somehow, _Jonny knows and, fuck, he’s going to tell Ewan_ , as if summoned, the door slams and he returns, cheerful, perky, fully awake, normal, well-adjusted. “They didn’t have any semi-skimmed left, so I got normal milk and skimmed, I thought we could sort of mix them together”, he yells from the hallway, kicking off his boots. Jude is still paralysed when he walks in, his back to him, but Jonny is composed and serene. The bastard. ‘Actually, love” (Jude winces at that) “I can’t stay for breakfast. Just remembered I’ve got a meeting. Walk me to the tube?” And a few minutes later, once the troublesome milk is put in the fridge, Jude is finally alone.

He spends the day wandering about the empty flat like a caged lion. He’s a ball of restless, directionless anger, and there’s only so many cups of coffee one can drink and cigarettes one can smoke in a day.  He manages to avoid it till it gets dark outside, then he gives up trying. One minute he’s hovering on the threshold of Ewan’s room, lip curling in disgust, and the next he’s lying in his bed, breathing in the smell of him with one hand down his jeans. In his hurry to get his fingers round his cock, he catches the back of his knuckles on the zip. The short pain seems to go nicely with his arousal and his anger, though, and soon he’s getting himself off in short, sharp jerks. He’s rougher than he’d let any girl be, and he tangles his feet in the sheets, thinking of what they did there, what they’re doing now, angry with Ewan, jealous of Jonny, disgusted with himself, and thoroughly turned on by the memory of what he saw. He feels out of control in a way he hasn’t for years, and when he comes his orgasm tears right through him. He’s not sure how, in the midst of all that, he managed to grab a white shirt from the floor to contain any mess, but he’s bloody glad that he did. What he’s just done is bad enough without leaving evidence behind.


End file.
